


Transparent.

by theweakestthing



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Invisibility, M/M, sudden ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 03:43:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4085368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweakestthing/pseuds/theweakestthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've gone see though, I can see right through you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transparent.

People were talking like he wasn’t there, people were acting as though he didn’t even exist. If this were anywhere else, he might have thought it a joke, but they were in the middle of a mission to catch a rogue strain. Said strain had unknown powers, but Fushimi worked them out pretty quickly, mind as keen as ever.

He was invisible.

That damned mischief of a strain had made him invisible.

He clicked in tongue.

This was going to be irritating, he thought, it was most likely that the only way to make him visible again was to get the strain to turn him back.

He groaned and tried to get the attention of his squad, flicking Awashima on the forehead only caused her to grumble and wave her hand in front of her face.

Then he smirked.

On the other hand, he could have a lot of fun with this.

Leaving the rest of the squad to continue to run around like headless chickens trying to catch the strain, Fushimi strode down the streets and away from the commotion.

He could have a nice holiday, all by his self, without anyone to bug him. The idea was pure bliss. He’d come back in a week or two and they’d have caught the strain by then, he’ll do whatever and then they’ll get the strain to turn him back. No big deal.

The smile that spread across his face was wide and did not suit him.

-

One week was up and were all it took for Fushimi to get bored. He had caused a whole lot of mischief, but after the first week he began to run out of ideas. He started to wander idly, hands in his pockets. His feet took him to that place before he realised where he was going, the golden letters loomed over him. 

Fushimi stood there, chewing on his cheek, deliberating.

Heck, they couldn’t see him and he was a little curious as to what they were up to, what was the worst that could happen? They’d be boring and Fushimi would finally go back to Scepter 4, he shrugged to himself and waited for someone to walk in so that he could follow without being suspicious.

The place hadn’t changed a lick, everyone was in the same position that he had left them. Even Misaki, leaning over the bar animated as he spoke to Kusanagi. It was exactly the same as he had left it, he was bored within an instant, nails found his collar as he turned to leave.

Awashima stood there in the doorway, in her uniform, and pointed straight at him. Fushimi turned to see that she was pointing toward Misaki and Kusanagi.

“You, vanguard,” she said harshly.

“Me?” Misaki pointed to himself and Fushimi raised a brow, what business could she possibly have with him.

“Where is he?”

Oh, of course, Fushimi thought. He had been presumed missing and eventually Scepter 4’s investigation would lead them to Homra, uselessly, or not so much considering the fact that he was actually there.

“Who?” Misaki said, lips curling up as he spoke in that viscous way.

“Fushimi-kun,” she muttered, obviously frustrated by the way her investigation was constantly hitting dead ends Fushimi was sure.

“Why the fuck would I know where he is?” Misaki spat, brows furrowed. Even when he wasn’t there, he still had this effect on Misaki, it brought a smirk to his face.

“May I ask why you’re looking for him?” Kusanagi said with that smile that twitched with irritation.

“He’s been missing for the last week,” Awashima said, concern in her tone and not on her face.

“And you guys actually give a shit, wow,” Misaki said smile odd, something was underneath that statement that Fushimi couldn’t put his finger on.

“If we hear anything we’ll let you know,” Kusanagi said, a peacemaking statement that was also meant as her cue to leave. And she did, nodding before she turned for the door, Fushimi didn’t follow her, not at all moved by her concern for him.

Something had piqued his interest though, the last thing Misaki had said, well it wasn’t exactly what the other had said more the way Misaki had said it.

He watched Misaki lean further against the bar, curled in on himself and noticed the way that no one mentioned it. From what he remembered from his time at Homra, if Misaki was down then that was like some sort of crisis and everyone would have crowded around the boy and prodded him. At the present though, no one, not even stupid as fuck Kamamoto, was pestering Misaki.

Fushimi felt left out, felt like there was something that everyone else knew and he did not.

“I’m going home,” Misaki announced, jumping off the stool and snatching his skateboard from the floor as he went. Fushimi followed, curious.

Misaki didn’t use his skateboard, instead he trudged around town going to all the places they used to haunt and asking about Fushimi.

The other’s concern irritated Fushimi, Misaki was supposed to hate him, Misaki wasn’t supposed to care. He bared his teeth at the bitter taste of it.

Shadows grew long as the sun retreated under the horizon, Misaki gave up with a sigh and walked home. Fushimi followed without really thinking about it, slipping through the door of Misaki’s home.

He watched Misaki kick the kotatsu, the kotatsu, the one that Fushimi had repaired, the other groaned with frustration. Fushimi felt as though he had been kicked, winded at the sight of the other’s sentiment.

“Fucking bastard,” Misaki yelled, giving the kotatsu another kick. “Why, why the fuck would you do this? Why the fuck should I care!” He went to punch the wall but retracted his arm before he did so, hands falling limply to his sides.

Fushimi stood, blinking dumbly at the display, stunned. Heart hammering away treacherously in his chest, whispering things to him that he didn’t want to listen to but he couldn’t help but hear.

His lips twitched with the need to say that name, but he didn’t.

Misaki flopped down onto the couch, arms bent back over his head. After a moment he pulled his arm back and held his wrist above himself, scrolled through his contacts to find Fushimi.

It was a nice idea, but Fushimi’s PDA had ran out of battery despite the fact that he had turned it off for most of his absence so as though he wouldn’t be easily found, stupid tech and it’s short battery life.

Misaki yelled again and punched the cushion of the couch.

-

The night was odd, for Fushimi at least, he stayed with Misaki, had watched the other wear the wood thin and worry at his lip.

Fushimi hadn’t thought that he’d wanted this, thought that the other’s compassion and care was the absolute last thing that he wanted. There he was, though, sat against the couch as Misaki sat on the windowsill eyes scanning the streets as though he might spy Fushimi down there, Fushimi felt something.

He could deny it for forever and a day, until he was just an ugly stain on the asphalt, but he felt something as Misaki released a shuddering sigh, wiping those tears away.

_

Yata hit the streets again the next morning with as much success as the day before, had to sneak down an alleyway to hide his frustrated tears.

Really, what right did Saru have to make him feel like that.

That familiar ache but sharper now, old wound ripped anew at the thought he didn’t want to think. Crouched behind a dumpster with the heels of his hands pressed hard against his forehead, Saru was simultaneously the smartest and the dumbest person he’d ever met. The boy would do anything to get the reaction he desired and Yata had been subject to that crap many times, had even hoped that that time in a different alleyway was one of those, but it wasn’t.

The worst had been a time in middle school, back when it was just them against the world. It was that particular incident that plagued Yata then, he didn’t want to think that Saru would be so dumb but he’d been proved wrong before.

“W-what the fuck are you doing Saru?” Yata screamed, frozen between action and inaction as the autumn wind whipped around him.

“What does it look like, Misaki?” Saru smiled, that wicked broken smile that felt like a rusty old razor against his chin.

“It looks like you’re going to do something really fucking stupid,” Yata returned, heart thumping and Yata marvelled at how it didn’t break his ribs from the force of it.

“Isn’t that you’re department?” Saru smirked, feet curling dangerously over the edge of the roof.

“Fuck you!” Yata spat, “what’s gotten into you?” Brows furrowed, confusion so thick it was fluid.

“Oh nothing really,” Saru said, voice cheery.

Yata wanted to tackle the other to the ground and away from the edge just to murder him, bloody murder with his fists.

“Look just get down and we’ll talk about it,” Yata’s throat stung, constricted with unspoken sobs. “Please,” he begged.

“Why?” Saru asked, face turning serious and body turned away from the roof’s edge.

Yata felt like he was under a microscope, being dissected.

“Because I’d care, if no one else did I would,” Yata felt like he was crumbling like clay.

“Cool, thanks Misaki,” Saru smirked, clapping Yata on the back as he passed making for the stairs.

Yata collapsed to the floor, hand on his heart.

-

He gave up at around noon, stomach grumbling reminding him that he didn’t have breakfast, and made his way to Homra.

He hated thinking like this, feeling like this. Emotions way out of control, thoughts so erratic that he even forgot to eat, heck had he even slept last night, he didn’t know. What he did know was that only Saru could do that to him, only Saru could have him so out of wack.

It was unfair, so unfair. Yata hadn’t done anything wrong, he’d kept Saru by his side and kept the other safe, but somehow and suddenly Saru was gone and now he was double gone. Yata groaned before kicking the door open and was instantly scolded, he stepped sheepish as he approached the bar.

“Got anything to eat, Kusangai-san?” Yata tried a smile and it didn’t feel right.

“You know, I was on the phone to Awashima-san-”

“The cold hearted woman?” Yata tilted his head, anger easily rising at the memory of her sharp words and pointed finger.

“Yes, and she told me that when Fushimi-kun went missing,” the honorific grated against Yata, the fact that everyone apart from him still spoke of Saru in the same way as they had before he left irritated him to no end, “they were chasing a strain that turns people invisible.”

Yata blinked and then he laughed.

It was fucking typical.

“So where’s the strain?” Yata asked chipper, mood lightened by the thought of Saru spending a week on his own, invisible. And there Yata had been thinking the worst, he was definitely going to kill the other when he got his hands on Saru.

“No one knows, ya know, turning invisible tends to make you hard to find,” Kusanagi-san replied.

And really that was priceless.

Yata almost fell off his stool at the thought of it, it was the least that Saru deserved.

-

On the way home, something was nagging at Yata, a little thought in the back of his head. The air rushed past him as he rode his skateboard through the streets.

Where would Saru go if he was invisible?

It was simple enough of a question, but Yata didn’t like the answer that popped into his head. Hopeful and disgusted in the same turn, he shook it off. No way could that be true, Saru wouldn’t want to follow him around. If their recent meetings were anything to go by, Saru would find it about as interesting as watching grass grow.

The thought continued to plague him though, even when he was home on his own.

An urge itched behind his lips, nerves frayed.

If Saru was there, then that meant something at least to Yata. And if Saru wasn’t then Yata could be ashamed of this moment all on his own.

“Saru?” He said quietly, no reply obviously. He hadn’t expected one even if Saru was there. “If you’re here then that makes you really dumb or the most obsessive and vindictive person I’ve ever met,” he said, veins singing, “I really doubt it’s the latter though.” Yata felt all the old crap rise to the surface and suddenly he needed to air out everything he’d only thought before. “You know, I don’t really hate you, I think I’m incapable of that,” he chuckled, foot on the kotatsu as he sat at the couch, “can’t even throw this piece of shit out,” he said with a smile. “I doubt I’m ever going to get over you, especially with the way we bump into each other. When I see you, it’s the stupidest thing, because I actually feel hope every time I see you and every time you disappoint me but I’ll still feel it again the next time. I’ll always hope that you’ll come back to me, not Homra, I gave up on that a while ago, but me. It’s the most selfish thing I’ve ever felt, but you always bring out the worst in me, fucking asshole,” he lied flat on the couch, arm bent over his eyes.

It wasn’t fair.

“It’s not fucking fair, the way you make it out to be me. The way you’ve turned everything good, everything I used to love turned to shit the moment you left because everything reminds me of you,” something smashed against the kitchen counter and Yata instantly sat up.

Ceramic cup shattered into pieces across the counter and the floor, Yata stood heart hammering away from him.

“Fuck,” he sighed eyes wide and brows high. “You fucking asshole,” he hissed, “as fucking if.”

“That word’s getting a lot of use,” Saru’s voice drifted over from beside Yata, startling the smaller.

“Fuck you,” Yata barked, he reached his hand out and it met fabric, Saru’s jacket.

“Nice speech Misaki,” Saru said, the words were strained.

Yata turned red, familiar blush traipsing across his face.

“Ugh, Saru,” he groaned, not letting the other go. Something that seemed like the smartest idea that Yata ever had popped into his head. “Ya know Saru, it’s actually pretty satisfying, like a weight off my shoulders,” he stopped short of saying the truth will set you free.

-

Fushimi had broken off from his squad, followed his nose. He was faster without anyone else, he was better alone. Narrow streets and even narrower alleyways, Fushimi cut across the road the strain within his sights.

The girl with white hair and blue eyes, a rare sight indeed, disappeared and reappeared, leg flying out to knock Fushimi flat on his ass.

“You look like a jerk,” she said, standing over him. She touched his nose, giggling as she ran off.

-

Words fell from Misaki’s mouth, words that cut like bone saws. He didn’t want to hear it, he didn’t want to know how much he agreed with Misaki. Didn’t want to suddenly remember all the times he’d turned to Misaki to find that the other wasn’t there, didn’t want to admit to himself just how big of a hole Misaki had left in his life.

Hand frozen in front of him where he’d thrown the cup, he stared wide eyed at the pieces scattered around.

He stood there, the lapel of his jacket caught in Misaki’s hand. Scowling down at the other, as if that’d do anything.

The way Misaki was looking at him, well sort of at him, that hope Misaki spoke of evident in those burning eyes.

“I’m a jerk,” was all he could think to say, anyone would be hard pressed to get honesty from him.

“Well, that is true but it’s also very obvious,” Misaki smiled and Fushimi wilted at the sight of it.

Seriously it wasn’t fair, hate was easy, hate was simple. What he felt in his gut, what he truly felt deep down was difficult, it was messy and complicated.

“Do you really hate me, Saru?”

It had been so long since he’d heard that name from those lips, the sound of it always brought him to his knees figuratively if not literally.

“No,” Fushimi said, like tar falling from his mouth.

“Well, I’m tired of fighting and if you don’t hate me and I don’t hate you then what the fuck are we doing?” Misaki shook his head.

And really wasn’t it funny, wasn’t it the most hilarious thing you’d ever heard.

“Being idiots, I guess that’s nothing new for you though.”

Misaki kicked him hard in the shin.

“Why don’t we stop doing that and start being friends again?”

“No Homra?”

“No Homra, no blues, just you and me,” Misaki pointed between them.

“Well, um, we might find it difficult to be friends if I’m still invisible,” Fushimi said, shifting where he stood.

“Yeah,” Misaki said, really thinking about it. His wrist lit up, Kusanagi was calling him.

“Yata-kun.”

“Yes.”

“They found the strain and she said that she’d turned Fushimi-kun invisible,” Kusanagi explained, “she says she’ll turn him back if no one tells her parents about the whole ordeal,” he continued.

“Is that so?”

“So where is she?” Fushimi barked, growing impatient.

“Fushimi-kun?” Kusanagi said startled. “She’s with your King.”

-

“W-wait,” Yata yelled, digging his heels in as Saru tried to leave, “just wait a second, what happens when you get back because I can’t pretend I didn’t say those things and I know sure as hell that you can’t pretend that you didn’t hear any of it,” he said in rush, trying to pry words from Saru.

“What?” Saru said curtly. “We’ll figure something out,” he grumbled.

Of course Saru was being difficult, it was as though it was the only thing the other knew how to be.

“Promise me,” Yata barked, “promise me that things won’t just go back to the way they’ve been,” he urged.

“Fine,” Saru muttered.

And that was good enough for Yata, he knew it would be all he’d get from the other.


End file.
